Friday, 11 October 2013

Indexed Stories – 14

It was about this time of the year when
everyone in Calcutta would be expectantly waiting for the annual festival of
Durga Puja to begin. Pandals would be witnessing hectic activity, the markets would
be crowded with shoppers, traffic would start getting slower by the day and
hordes of people from adjoining towns and villages would converge on the city
in droves – wide-eyed wonder gradually morphing into a tired shuffle by early
morning when the buses would take them home. By that time, new clothes would be
drenched in sweat and cling to their tired bodies, new shoes worn with torn
socks would have resulted in painful blisters and many would limp home in bare
feet.

The scenario has not changed a bit
except for the fact that everything has gone into a maddening overdrive. The
pandals are more ornate, far more expensive, themes and material use -
disproportionately more important than simple piety. The crowds too have
swelled a hundred-fold and instead of their presence on the last four or five
days, the throngs of people hit the streets much in advance – sometimes much
before the Puja organizers have been able to put their acts together. The roads
are almost un-navigable despite the police bandobast and it is sheer chaos for
over a month.

On the flip side the dreaded haggling
and threatening over Puja subscriptions have become a thing of the past –
thanks to corporate funding. But that has also messed up the city. It is
cluttered with millions of temporary bill boards and gates. The city nowadays
is at its ugliest best. But, since ordinary people like me are not pestered for
atrociously high donations, I prefer to look the other way. In fact, I do not
even venture out lest my sense of aesthetics be violated. With the government
wanting to market the Pujas as a touristic event and planning to fund Puja
committees, I would like to suggest that such visual pollution be reined in and
a design code be formulated for advertisers and sponsors to follow and any
transgression must be heavily penalized.

The scenario was not so in 1983. The
Puja ‘spirit’ was all there but the madness and chaos had not yet manifested
itself on the collective psyche. I mention a specific year because I have fond
memories of it. Our daughter Shohini was not yet three years old then and like
any child of that age had an unending list of questions and an insatiable
hunger for stories.

Shohini as a 3 year old.

We lived on Motilal Nehru Road in a
small joint family with a clutch of live-in domestics. The Deshapriya Park
Durga Pujo was a short walk away and I had a few friends who were among the
organisers. This was the closest I have ever been to any local pujo and that
allowed me access to the hallowed pandal.It was the fourth day (Chaturthi) and the maids reported that the Durga
idol had just arrived. Seeing Shohini’s impatience I decided to take her there.
It was early evening and the little girl almost dragged me by the hand to the
park and in we went into the pandal. There was hectic activity and I was
concerned about her being hurt by getting in the way. I picked her up and
walked around, pointing out Durga and her vehicle – the Lion, the demon – Ashur
and Durga’s children Lakshmi, Saraswati, Kartik and Ganesh. This was not an
‘ekchala’ composition, but free standing idols and as I explained things to her
I made the mistake of climbing the dais and peering behind the idols. At that
very moment everyone present heard this perfectly audible little voice ask,
“Oder pyachhoney bnash kyano?” (Why do they have bamboos stuck up their behinds?)

I could feel the eyes of the people
around turning towards us. Sacrilege! This was the Emperor has no clothes
moment. I heard someone hiss what I was doing up there and that I should leave.
I made a fast exit with Shohini in my arms – who was still insisting for an
answer to her question. I strode out of the pandal and explained to her that
the idols were made of mud and that the bamboos were intended as support. Her
expression told me that she was not satisfied with my answer. I tried to divert
her attention to the merry-go-round and giant wheel still being assembled and
kept up a constant chatter to pre-empt any more discussion on the bamboos up
the posteriors of the Gods and Goddesses.

All the way back home and into the late
evening I quizzed her - who is Durga’s vehicle? The Lion! …And Kartick’s? The
Peacock! ...And Ganesh’s? The Mouse! …And Lakshmi’s? The Owl! …And Saraswati’s?
The Swan! By the time I was convinced that my subterfuge had worked and the question
of the bamboos up the posteriors of the idols would not come up again, she
looked at me intently and said, “Why are they made of mud?”

“That’s the cheapest and the most easily
available material to give shape to any form” I explained, thinking that a
direct and matter of fact answer would close the chapter. She looked unconvinced.
While I was trying to think fast for a more acceptable reason, she grew
restless. “Tell me why!” she demanded.

This meant that she was expecting a
story. I knew I had to be consistent with whatever I had been telling her all
evening and yet a story needed to be concocted.

“You see Durga’s children – Lakshmi,
Saraswati, Kartick and Ganesh were very naughty and they always fought among
themselves and Durga had her hands full trying to settle disputes. She, despite
her ten hands was always at her wits end like an over worked mother,” I started
my story.

“What were the children fighting about?”
she interjected.

“Oh! Many things, mostly small things
like Ganesh licked Lakshmi’s ice cream and Lakshmi came crying to Mother.
Kartick shot arrows as target practice on Saraswati’s swan and things like
that. They did things that naughty boys and girls do.”

“What else did they do?” she giggled
warming up in anticipation of a longer list of naughty things. This would be a
long story if I keep adding to the list I thought and the story needed to be
concluded fast.

You see this was going on for far too
long and Durga knew that this would never end. Because children will be
children and the children of the Gods and Goddesses never grow up. Have you
ever heard of an old and infirm Durga or a bearded Ganesh? See! They never grow
up or grow old! So, Durga was getting tired of all the naughtiness and was
thinking of how to put an end to this nonsense.

Then one day Lakshmi sent her owl to eat
up Ganesh’s mouse. Ganesh got another one from the pet shop and Lakshmi’s owl
ate that one too. This continued for some time until Ganesh found that he had
no pocket money left to buy any more mice. So, he finally confronted his sister
and they started scratching, biting and fighting. Saraswati and Kartick egged
them on from the sidelines and soon it really got out of hand. Durga got the
opportunity she wanted and you know what she did?” I asked.

“What? Shohini demanded.

“Durga turned everyone into mud and the
potters of Kumartuli started using that mud to make idols! There!” I concluded
almost relieved to have pulled it off.

I had to repeat this story often, and I
had to repeat many stories including the story of the Fat Queen that lived in
the Victoria Memorial.

I intended to write about the people in
the “L” pages of my telephone diaries and I just couldn’t begin. That will have
to wait until the next post. This is what the Durga Puja festivities do to you.
I do not go out pandal hopping because I detest being pushed around and my feet
trampled upon, and yet at this time of the year even while sitting at home in
front of the computer, the ‘spirit’ of the season gets to you.

'Because children will be children and the children of the Gods and Goddesses never grow up. Have you ever heard of an old and infirm Durga or a bearded Ganesh?' I am touched by this line and by the entire piece. Thank you Abhijit-da.

An excellent example of tongue in cheek humour! Thoroughly readable! On a more inquisitive note- just read today that when durga idols are made a fistful of mud from the doorstep of a sex worker is mandatory. Any idea why? Or is it true?

As always, enjoyed reading the blog especially the creative 'on the go' creation of stories for the amusement of Shohini. Children are always eager and enthusiastic to learn all about their surroundings and at times their string of questions can test your abilities. I hope you have managed to successfully pass on those story telling skills .

The mention of Motilala Nehru Rd and Desapriya Park brings back, fond memories of free roaming childhood and walking to school with rubber Hawai chappals, lining up for opening day tickets at Priya Cinema and later on play club cricket for Milan Samity and DKS in the early 70's. . And those were the days my friend. Childhood memories stick around for ever.

Great reading. I loved the way you handled the questions hurled by little Shohini then. Reminds me of many such incidences I had to live through as well. I loved the way she talked of the bamboo stilts at the back of the idols. Children have every right to know why even Gods and Goddesses get them. Thank God she never got to know then, how they are there for humans all their lives! Ha ha ha....